Tenderness
by chrislee
Summary: Buffy deals with events post-coital "Smashed."


Author: chrislee  
  
Rated: Strong R  
  
Disclaimer: Joss owns 'em, I don't  
  
It's about what happens after Spike and Buffy do the deed.  
  
Feedback: Sure, christie_mcdonal@hotmail.com  
  
Tenderness  
  
At the very instant his icy flesh impaled her, Buffy had a moment of blinding clarity. Her eyes flew open, met his own startled gaze, but she didn't blink, didn't look away- only settled deeper onto his rigid cock. He began in earnest then, as if afraid she might suddenly change her mind. But she'd already made up her mind, hadn't she. Had already made the decision to see this through to the end.  
  
Spike's supernatural strength could only keep the two of them aloft for so long and as his own orgasm barreled through him, he felt his knees buckle, felt Buffy pitch forward knocking them both backwards where they crashed through the weakened floor to the level below. Impossibly joined, they lay staring at each other in disbelief.  
  
"Slayer," Spike began.  
  
Buffy silenced him with a look and not the look of a woman basking in any post-orgasmic afterglow either. She rolled off him and, back turned, adjusted her clothing.  
  
"Buffy," Spike tried again.  
  
"Please. Please don't say a word, Spike," Buffy said so softly that it was only Spike's preternatural hearing which allowed him to discern the words.  
  
Spike reached down and pushed his recovering penis back into his pants; wondered, briefly, if she'd go again. It hadn't been how he'd imagined it, over and over in his crypt. It wasn't how he'd planned this first seduction at all; but, then again, he hadn't really imagined it would ever really happen.  
  
He sat up, tentatively reached a pale hand forward, pulled back as she shrugged off its approach.  
  
"We'll have to deal with this, pet. Sooner or later. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"I know." She twisted around to look at him, gave him a small, sad smile. "But not now. Not tonight."  
  
Buffy stood, absently brushing the dust and debris from her clothes. She moved towards the partially crumbled stairs and without looking back, ascended.  
  
**  
  
In the dream his skin was warm. He stood beside her staring out at the ocean, his hand closed over hers and his skin was warm. She looked up at his face, his profile a beautiful silhouette against the sun.  
  
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to explain but the words stuck in her throat.  
  
He pulled her down the steps to the beach and they began a long, aimless walk along the sand.  
  
"Angel," she said.  
  
"Mmmm," he replied.  
  
"I need to tell you something. It's important."  
  
Then, suddenly, it occurred to her. It was day. It was sunny. She was standing on the beach in the searing sun and Angel was with her.  
  
"But, how?" she said, without having articulated her thoughts.  
  
Angel turned and Buffy was momentarily blinded: steep cheeks, wide mouth, intense eyes. He raised his hand to rest on her cheek, tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear, positioning his thumb to catch a tear before it had even formed in her eye.  
  
"It's just a dream, Buffy," he said.  
  
**  
  
Buffy awoke with a start. Her gaze shot to the window Angel had come through so many nights, so many years ago. She rolled over, turning her back on the fluttering curtains, the empty sill.  
  
Images of Spike crowded into her head. Spike smashing her across the face. Spike telling her she'd come back from the ether wrong, Spike kissing her without mercy, but not, strangely, without tenderness.  
  
Buffy suddenly felt queasy. Angel's luminous face hovered in her mind. What had she done?  
  
What is done cannot be undone.  
  
Twisted as it might seem, Buffy knew that Spike had feelings for her. Were they selfless feelings? Buffy knew they were not. Would his feelings exact a painful price? Without question. But she was not an innocent bystander. She had used him, deliberately: the kissing, (cold mouth so familiar), the superhuman strength (that matched her own, almost). No matter how you stacked the deck, the outcome was always the same.  
  
For the first time since Willow's magick had brought her back from the dead, Buffy felt rage rising in her like a tide. What had she done?  
  
The images of her and Spike together flashed in front of her eyes like one of those stupid kid's viewfinders. Click: Spike slugs Buffy. Click: Buffy slugs Spike. Foreplay concluded. Click: Zipper frees essential body parts. Click: Slayer now shagging vampire. Click.  
  
Buffy swung her legs out of the bed and reached for her leather pants. Maybe dusting a few vampires would settle her stomach, calm the burning there. She dressed quickly and slipped silently from the room.  
  
**  
  
But the only vampire out in Sunnydale that night was, of course, Spike. He rested against a tombstone, legs splayed in front, cigarette smoke whispering past his bleached hair, a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in his fist.  
  
By way of greeting he tipped the bottle toward her.  
  
"Drink?"  
  
"No. Thanks."  
  
The cemetery was silent except for the sound of Spike pulling alternately on the cigarette and the bottle.  
  
"I'm…"  
  
Buffy cut him off before the word had barely left his mouth.  
  
"If you tell me you're sorry, I swear to God…"  
  
Spike laughed. "Actually, I was going to say, well, never mind. I'm not sorry, by the way."  
  
"Figures," Buffy replied.  
  
Spike stood and took a relatively steady step toward her, despite the nearly empty bottle of Jack.  
  
"Are you sorry, Slayer?" he asked, quietly.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"Is that a rhetorical question," Spike asked, "or do you really want me to answer?"  
  
Buffy shrugged, raising her eyes to meet his for the first time since entering the graveyard.  
  
"I'm not him. Thank God. And he's not coming back. Thank God. Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of your, I can help…" Spike paused. "Jesus. I sound like some poncy self-help guru. Look. You came to me. You told me about where you'd been when you couldn't tell anyone else. Not even Giles. You. Kissed. Me. I wasn't alone in that building. You were definitely there…"  
  
"Spike, I…" Buffy started and then stopped, hand clapping tightly over her mouth, tears leaking from her eyes.  
  
Spike closed the short distance between them in a heartbeat and pulled her against his hard chest.  
  
"It's time to move on, pet," he said, smoothing her hair with his fingers, tipping her face up so she could look at him, really see him.  
  
Which, actually, made it easier: to pull the stake from her pocket, to ram it up into the space between them, into his dead heart.  
  
Spike's eyes reflected nothing, not even surprise. As the dust settled around her, Buffy sank to her knees, the tears coming in earnest now.  
  
Spike hadn't been much, but he'd been something. And now Buffy had nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
End. 


End file.
